


Twerking in Mirkwood

by cats_cradle



Series: Thorin X Reader Drabbles [4]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: And Hot Kisses, And angst, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Asshole Thranduil, Drama, Durin Dancers, Elves are Dicks, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Giant Spiders, Loss of Control, Loss of Virginity, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mirkwood, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Protective Thorin, Rape/Non-con Elements, Really Don't Look for a Plot, Smut, Thorin Is Not Amused, Thorin Is an Idiot, Thorin is a Softie, Thorin is your Hero, Twerking, did i mention smut, don't look for a plot, major angst, there is lots of smut, there isn't one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-25 15:16:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6200206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cats_cradle/pseuds/cats_cradle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had to be done!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Twerking in Mirkwood

**Author's Note:**

> First chapter of Twerking in Mirkwood. The second chapter will be posted tomorrow night.  
> For thatbloodyines who wants dungeon smut. It's coming (no pun intended) just this demanded to be written first.  
> Next chapter up will be How Thorin got his Groove Back or How Thorin violated Thranduil's favourite dungeon cell.

You watched his thumb trace your lifeline, the slight touch tickling you until you pulled your hand away. Rubbing your hand on your thigh to ease the itch he’d created, you giggled quietly and was graced with the beauty of his returning smile.

“I wish you’d smile more,” you whispered as your hand came up, brushing his long hair back behind his ear with your fingertips, envying the softness. You carried on down over his braid reaching the silver bead. You brought it closer to your face, trying to see the design in the firelight and was about to ask what it meant when you felt soft lips and prickly whiskers graze your forehead.

You froze, only able to breathe as you absorbed this tender moment. This was the dwarf no one, except perhaps his family, saw. Thorin was confident, commanding, compassionate, and everyone who knew him had witnessed that side to him, especially on this quest. This side, though, this warm, caring, cuddly, and funny as hell side of him was kept so carefully away from the others.

Fingers traced down your cheek, coming to rest on your chin. He nudged a little and you raised your head to him. Letting him catch your lips in a soft kiss.

You loved his kisses. He would start slow, the gentlest of motions with his soft lips. Now he singled out your bottom lip, capturing it between his as he traced his tongue over it. He kissed the moistness away and moved to your top lip beginning all over again. When he’d had enough of tasting your lips, he nipped at your bottom lip his silent command for you to let him in. His mouth slanted over yours and his tongue leisurely mapped your mouth. Flicking at your tongue, curving up to the roof of your mouth. It was bliss.

Now came the frustrating part, because when he kissed you like this you wanted to touch him, tried to, but he was always quicker. Being stronger than you Thorin made easy work of capturing your hands, locking his fingers with yours and pulling your hands above your head. It would force you, whether you wanted it or not, to your back and the dwarf always ended up pressing you beneath him, you unable to do anything but lay there and let him have his way.

The heavy petting make-out session was getting hotter, and you thought maybe tonight with the soft sound of the campfire crackling, the stars above in a clear moonless sky, the rest of the company sleeping nearer to Beorn’s ponies, and further away from you, that this could be the right time.

“Please,” you drawled out as his lips drifted lazily against your throat. “Thorin, please,” this time you begged. Arching up against him, trying to rub your body against his.

You couldn’t take more teasing, you wanted this, him.

Thorin merely hushed you with soothing sounds and took your mouth gently once more. Finally, he pulled away, resting on his arms to look down at you. “Why can’t we?”

Releasing your hands he pulled away and sat up beside you. You watched the dwarf scan the camp and the forest with that economical movement he’d perfected through his life.

You waited, watching his throat move with each swallow. You’d studied him enough over these nights together to know this tell was him readying himself to say something serious.

“You should give your body to the one who would be your husband.” He didn’t look at you as he spoke. His gaze locked onto something you couldn’t see from your vantage point on the soft ground.

You mulled over his words. Okay, life here in middle earth was different to your world. True, in your world there were those who chose to wait for marriage before having sex, and you respected people who made that decision. You weren’t one of them, though, and you’d certainly been given the impression that Thorin wasn’t either. No way was the Dwarf King a virgin. No man, dwarf, or elf could kiss like that and not have followed through.

“I don’t get it?” you had to know, after all, you’d thought this was something serious. Despite your initial reaction in not taking this adventure seriously, you’d pretty much fallen hard for Thorin a few days into the quest.

It had been in Bree when you’d watched every dwarf be treated with disdain and suspicion and yet Thorin had kept his temper in check and only snapped at a one-eyed man who made a lecherous grasp at you. Thorin had easily swept you out of arm’s reach, putting his body between you and the smelly drunk. His words were to the point, his sword freed from its sheath doubling his point.

Who wouldn’t have fallen for the handsome, perfect-haired, honourable dwarf? Despite his snapping at you nearly every day after Bree. You just fell harder, blaming that damn Pavlov again.

“It is not you,” he spoke again.

Wait, what? “No.” You couldn’t help snapping at him. “Please don’t give me that ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ shit.” You pulled yourself up, pushing your legs under you to stand up. Wiping off the grass and dust from your coat and trousers. You were going to cut this shit off before it started. “I’ve had that speech before, again from someone I loved or thought I did. It felt nothing like what I feel for you. But I will not put myself out there again to be treated so insignificantly.”

Thorin stood as you grabbed your blanket and pack, ready to take off to the other side of the camp and sleep with the smelly ponies. You would not debase yourself begging him, it was clear from his words what you meant to him.

His hand caught your arm, trying to turn you, but you braced your legs and body. Channelling Maggie Thatcher, you were not a lady for turning.

“Allow me to explain.”

Oh. Hell. No!

You whipped around, Thorin’s eyes wide with surprise at the speed of your movements. Your finger came up, pointing directly at his face. “Don’t you dare? I’ve been here before, used as a bit of fun and when I want something serious, I get that stupid speech. Well no, this time, I’m the one who’s walking away. I’ll get over you, it’ll take time I know, but I will. My mother always said people like you would never deserve my love.” You stumbled away, turning back to shoot at him, “And you know what, she was right.”

“You cannot love me.”

Oh, sweet Jesus, this dwarf was asking for it. You threw all your worldly possessions to the floor, stomped back to him, stood there in front of him. If the dwarf knew you better, the moment you braced your hands on your hips, he should have started running.

“You arrogant prick.” Bracing your weight on one leg, you sneered at him, “How dare you tell me what to think or feel?”

His hands came up as though surrendering and he called your name in that oh so soothing tone. No, that was not going to work this time. “I love you and I am in love with you. But I’ll get over you. Why? Because I’m a good person who doesn’t treat others like shit.”

He stepped into your personal space one hand reaching out to you. You speared back from him, “You so much as touch me and I swear I’ll break your fucking arm off and beat you with it.”

You actually shocked yourself into silence with those words. A smirk upturned one side of his lips and you didn’t care how sexy it was, or how damn wet it made you. The damn dwarf was not getting away with this. “You’re cute when you’re angry.”

What the fuck!

Oh, yeah, you had the strength. You were bringing forth your inner hulk. You visualised it in your mind. You’d step forward, grab his right arm, twist and pull at the same time. The limb would detach and you’d raise it high and bring it down on his hard head, several frickin’ times.

It wasn’t you that moved.

And you hated how fast the braided twerp could move. But now, he had hold of you, his face was practically splitting open from the size of his smirk, he dropped his head to get into your face. “You love me.”

“No, I don’t. Not anymore, I got over you.”

He tilted his head, and you stared at those bright blue eyes that you were sure reflected every star in the sky. “You love me.”

Your eyes blurred, “No, I hate you.” Oh God, your voice was cracking.

He lowered his mouth to yours, not quite touching, “You love me.”

You couldn’t answer, your tongue was too busy tangling with his. Your hands grabbed at his hair, his braids, and those lovely ears of his. His hands were equally busy surrounding you, pulling you tighter against him, running up your shoulders, down to your bottom.

You felt his knees flex just as his hands moved low and you were up. Circling your legs around his hips as he held you tight. You broke the kiss to stare down at him, his heavenly wet mouth so close to yours.

“Why?” You shook your head wanting to ask more of that question, but you weren’t very articulate right now.

He smiled that dreamy smile that was reserved only for you. “Because I was afraid the love I have for you, was not returned.”

You laughed and kissed him at the same time, relief rivered through you, easing every muscle and nerve in your body.

“Stupid arse Dwarf.” He nodded, you couldn’t help chuckling.

“You do know that I am a king. Insulting me,” and here he lowered his eyebrows taking on a mock-threatening tone, “as well as threatening bodily harm, is a grave offence.”

You wiggled forcing him to put you down, “Well, your majesty, perhaps I deserve a good spanking.” At that, you swivelled around and bent over. Your years of aerobics came in handy as you bent near double and looked at him through your legs, “I await the royal hand.”

“How in Mahal do you do that?”

Well, you hadn’t expected that, so you stood tall, pulled off your jacket, untucked your shirt so you'd have more manoeuvrability and stretched backwards into a back crab. Jokingly, you added, “Do what?”

Oh, you could see the dwarf thinking about all the possibilities. You winked at him, braced your arms and followed up, by going up. Your legs went up, straight, your arms holding all your weight. You were loving this moment until your shirt fell over your face. Instinct kicked in and you immediately lifted a hand to pull your clothes back on your body, ensuring gravity had its revenge on you.

Before you could topple Thorin had your legs with one hand and your shirt with the other. “It was going well, until then,” he deadpanned.

If he’d been looking you would have scowled at him. Instead, you screamed as he let go of your legs, grabbed your body and turned your sideways descent into a cartwheel. Wow, he was really strong! And really, really fast. But you knew that from him saving your life a gazillion times.

You stepped forward, still caught in the headiness of confessing feelings to each other. You grabbed a braid in each fist and tugged him closer, mimicking his smirk, resting your forehead against his, you whispered, “You love me.”

You were angling for another toe-curling kiss.

Instead, his face smoothed, making him look so much younger. “Aye, My Lady. I have been caught in your web, and find myself never wanting to be freed.”

“You know, saying I’m a spider isn’t very romantic. Black Widows eat their mates.”

“Well,” Thorin began in that serious voice, “You’ve already eaten me and I survived.”

The heat shot up your face and hindsight screamed you should learn to keep your mouth shut, only for hindsight to kick itself at those words.

Thorin just laughed, loudly, at your reaction before bundling you up against him and moving you back to his bedroll.

***

It seemed it had taken years to get to Beorn’s house in the woods, and when the friendly Man-Bear, as you called him, had lent the company ponies you’d thought it would take a while to get to Mirkwood.

You discovered that the platitude about time flying when you were having lots of fun was true. Mirkwood approached one misty morning before you were ready to meet it. And with the dank wood ahead of you, with its gnarled trees and elven built gateway covered in thick moss, every bit of happiness seemed sucked out of you.

You were at the back of the company, with Bofur and Bifur, but wanting very much to be with Thorin, in his arms. You didn’t move towards him because that would mean getting closer to the trees invaded with sickness.

Not only that, there was something else, something in the trees that screamed into your head. High-pitched like a boiling kettle and you couldn’t help staggering backwards. Flight kicked in and you just kept walking backwards, your hands came to your head, covering your ears, hoping to block the screeching.

Everyone was looking at you, you could see their mouths moving, words that couldn’t make it into your brain. Some had their hands out to you, others just stared frozen at your actions.

He was there. Moving towards you, talking, like one of those silent movie actors. Still the shrieking continued and you shook your head unable to stop yourself from screaming, doubling over, clenching your eyes shut, trying to block sight and sound.

You were bodily pulled up, your face pressed hard into Thorin’s shoulder. His arms surrounding your head. The shrieking died away as the warmth of his love pulsed through you. Being engulfed by this dwarf king was nothing short of magical and now he proved it.

“Tell me?” he whispered.

“It’s screaming at me.” You couldn’t explain more.

“What does it mean?” How the hell were you supposed to answer that?

“It does not bode well.” Oh, he was talking to Gandalf. The screaming tried to break through again, you buried your head into Thorin’s shoulder and he tightened his hold once more. All you could hear was the muffled sound of talking as Gandalf seemed to be briefing Thorin on something.

Thorin loosened his hold. “Are you sure it will help her?”

“It will not harm her.”

What!

What the hell were they talking about?

You didn’t get a chance to ask as Thorin pushed you away, holding you at arm’s length. The screaming returned with a swift, crippling vengeance you weren’t prepared for. Your legs buckled and Thorin’s strength held you up and you dangled in his arms, you suspected you were doing a great impression of an epileptic octopus.

A cool hand came to your forehead stopping your shaking and something trickled over you. You looked down at yourself, you weren’t wet, even though it seemed someone had poured ice water over you. You were cold, starting to shiver, but the screaming was gone. In its place was a voice, a shrill, wicked voice, which threatened you with violence and a slow painful death from the fangs of her many children.

You could handle it, the threats to yourself. When it turned to what she was going to do to Thorin, you panicked. Gandalf was in your personal space now, towering over you, forcing you to look into his eyes and repeat everything being said. The wizard clearly knew what was happening to you.

When you repeated her vile words, haltingly, caught between sheer terror and righteous rage the wizard listened, paying no attention to Thorin rubbing your back soothingly. All he did was command that his horse not be released yet, and informed all the company that he had to leave.

Before riding away, Gandalf spoke quietly to Thorin, and whatever he said had you completely perplexed. You couldn’t hear them as Gandalf had moved Thorin over to his horse. The grey wizard had bent down and whispered in the dwarf’s ear. Whatever it was had Thorin snapping a look at you before flushing bright red and shifting uncomfortably. When the wizard moved away he was just as red-faced.

Well whatever it was, you could try to wheedle it out of Thorin later. Casting an evil look at the forest behind you, you swallowed hoping there would be a later.

***

Being a woman who was born to a modern world, who spent a little bit of time browsing literature and surfing news channels that showed images of how your world was being plundered of its natural resources, and one who had given a little money aiding those charities that liked greenery on the planet.

You now wanted a full refund, plus compensation. Oh, and a few hundred lumberjacks would go down well right now, thank you very much. You were now a full advocate of deforestation!

Also being a woman from a modern world, it meant you’d watched scary vampire movies of people trapped in arctic places that had no sun for like six months of the year. Just darkness, and shadows, and more frickin’ darkness. Where anything could jump out on you.

Hence your impression of a barnacle.

The others in the company thought it was funny. Thorin, obviously, thought it annoying, though he did his best not to show it too much. You, well you were ignoring his sighing and their laughing. You’d attached yourself to Thorin’s arm and you were not letting go. At all!

Thorin, you think, had realised earlier that if he wanted to detach you, he’d need to cut off his own arm. As that was not about to happen, you were pretty safe, right now.

The path you had to follow seemed well laid out, to begin with. The uneven yellow slabs, with moss creeping around their edges, shone out in the gloominess. The further in you went, the more cracked and missing the path became. It was like some kind of evil funhouse and you knew there were spectators in the trees watching, snickering at all your efforts.

The vicious harpy that had invaded your head was silent. Though not in a good way. It was perhaps the most disturbing feeling in the universe, to be able to experience another's emotions. Especially when those emotions were expectation and glee. This female, whoever or whatever she was, waited for your mistake.

It was getting harder to ignore, you could feel her salivating at the thought that soon you’d be hers. All of the company would suffer, and the brief flashes of your torture that kept shooting through your abominable link was fraying your nerves.

Thorin stopped and glanced down at your white fingers, likely stopping his circulation. You loved the way he would just raise a hand and the others would know what that signal meant. You did too. It was break time!

You took a moment to look around the camp. The joviality from earlier was gone. Even Bilbo, with his constant cheerfulness, like some motivational speaker, was weary, confused. All heads were lowered and each dwarf looked lethargic.

“Come with me.”

You nodded allowing Thorin to pull you away a little to a huge tree, its trunk the widest you’d ever seen. It reminded you of that picture of those trees in America, Redwoods, you thought they were called.

Thorin settled his back against the tree and pulled you into his arms. “There is a sickness on this forest.” Thorin whispered, his breath tickling your ear, you couldn’t help pushing closer, craving that sensation.

“Gandalf told me of a way, to push back the evil.” Oh, his words were so soft, so silky. Almost purred into your ear.

“You would help us, yes?”

“Yes, yes.” Meg Ryan popped into your head, that scene from When Harry Met Sally, you giggled, throwing your head back. You would’ve fallen all the way down if not for those impressively strong arms around you.

“That’s my good girl.”

That…should’ve been creepy. But hearing Thorin say it, just like that, spurred you on to please him.

You were whirled around your back against the tree, Thorin pressing into your front, and then his hands. Oh holy hell, his hands went straight under your shirt as his mouth attacked yours. His cool palms rubbing over your breasts had your nipples plucking up, begging for more. And he gave it. Trapping a nipple between finger and thumb, he tugged hard. Pain shot through you and down to your mound where it became an absolute pleasure.

You tried to beg for more, but it came out muffled, lost in Thorin’s mouth. He seemed to know as he twisted, pulled, pinched and palmed.

You rubbed yourself against him, like some rabid dog on heat. You didn’t care. When he shoved his thigh between your legs, pushing up hard it gave you the leverage you needed. Getting off was all you were thinking about. Thorin ripped his mouth away, pulled up your shirt, and with hands on your hips lifted you higher, his thigh staying ground into your centre.

His mouth inhaled one breast, tongue mapping out every part of your nipple, teeth catching you in sharp little nips. His hands on your hips set up a delicious rhythm as you ground yourself down on him. It was fast and frenetic and building hard inside of you. He moved to your other breast, creating that delicious soreness in your nipple. You tried to speak, but only hard gasps came out, you had no voice. Finally, it crashed over you. That much needed climax.

Thorin pulled away, lowering you down and quickly pushed you out from behind the tree.

You were woozy, wondering if your trembling legs could hold you, but didn’t stop Thorin as he led you to the company. Something wasn’t right, but you couldn’t find the will to argue. As the company seemed to sense you and gravitate towards you the strangest effect overcame you.

Euphoria!

All the company were suddenly smiling, happy, laughing. Even the eternal gloominess seemed to lift. You were happy, so happy, yet so not yourself. It's like your emotions caused a tsunami of sensation all around you. It was reflected off of everyone and pushed back to you ten-fold, only for you to throw it back out, stronger.

You couldn’t help swinging away from Thorin, giggling as you did a lazy pirouette that morphed into you spinning around, stopping only when Filí crashed into you.

“I have a brilliant idea,” he squealed in your face. Calling to his brother the three of you stood in a line as Filí commanded you to teach them to dance.

What were you going to teach them? Hmm, so many dance moves. Enlightenment hit when Thorin, smiling like a child with candy leant against a tree. He looked so relaxed and damn yummy.

“Okay,” you clapped your hands, “Here we go. Princes of Durin get ready to Twerk!”

You started off with getting them to bend their knees. Not too low, no arses on the ground, and then got them putting their hands on their hips. They looked hilarious. When Bofur, Bifur and Nori waltzed up, assuming the positions you couldn’t stop giggling for about five minutes. You did offer, with a little nod at the line of Dwarves, for Thorin to join. He refused with a barely-there shake of his head. You didn’t push, after all, he was responsible for the glowy feeling thrumming through your body.

“Okay, hands on your hips, thumbs on your arses.” When they copied your movements, you made sure they all had their feet sticking out. “Now, we’re going to move forwards first, so using your thumbs push those hips forward.”

It was like being at the weirdest audition for The Rocky Horror Show.

Next you focused on them jerking those hips back, once they had that going you got them to move their hands down to their thighs and getting them to jerk freely. Oh, those pelvic thrusts were looking damn fine. Finally, they were ready, with your arms outstretched you ordered them to follow your pace. Starting slow, twerking, bending lower to emphasise those thrusts, speeding up. Hearing them huffing and puffing trying to keep up. You cheered them on, turning into the Twerking Goddess of Mirkwood, backed up by the Durin Dancers.

You threw your head back, hair lashing down your lower back you lost yourself to a tune only you could hear.

You took a glance at the leader of the company, staring intently from beside his tree. You twirled in happiness, back to staring at Thorin, who was taking a sip out of his flask. You laughed loud and proud, whipping up your shirt and flashing the dwarf, giggling as he choked on his drink.

***

 


	2. Thorin gets his Groove on!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well. Life was never going to be the same after this!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really, don't read this expecting a plot, there isn't one. But there are about 6000 words of smut :D  
> Enjoy, and really leave me some comments and spread the love!

Dwarves, you decided, were epic at twerking. Ori, shy quiet, mousey Ori, who wouldn’t say boo to a goose, was the Twerking King of Mirkwood. He’d picked it up as though he’d been a closet twerker all his life. So, seeing the young dwarf twerk like a pro, you decided to move onto some other dance moves.

You thought the Time Warp had to be done!

Followed by The Macarena.

Next came line dancing, and the Do-si-do!

And, just to show how childish you were and because it was funny as hell, you taught them the Fast Food Song.

This explained why Thorin was ready to strangle the next person who belted out ‘Pizza Hut’ or ‘Kentucky Fried Chicken’ or ‘MacDonald’s’. The King under the Mountain was definitely not a fan of the Golden Arches! You thought that was wrong on so many levels.

Your glowy feeling had yet to dissipate. In fact, you found that being in close confines of the company the effect still lingered strongly. There was a distinct lack of a venomous presence in your mind. Perhaps, in hindsight, had you still felt that harpy in your mind you may have been prepared for what came next. Though, you argued with hindsight, that if you had known, you never would have experienced the kiss to end all kisses!

It was just after you’d been asked to belt out another song, and you’d turned to your favourite musical. Vocalising, badly, the ultimate love song.

Hopelessly Devoted to You was serenaded to Thorin’s back, and you were a little, okay a lot, put out that not once did Mr Perfect-Hair turn around to look at you.

You finished the song to a lot of chants about changing the tune. Nori would pay for that. Filí and Kilí ribbed their uncle mercilessly about your song and your singing voice. You suspected it wasn’t very complimentary, but you didn’t care. Euphoria was your friend today.

It was just as you’d taken a bow and asked for your flowers that it happened. Balin asked where the path was. You looked down, expecting to see chipped and cracked slabs and found decomposing leaves and broken twigs. That funky green moss that didn’t look healthy covered the jutting roots that bordered the path if it was even a path.

And as you looked back up, it struck. It being huge, black with a rounded body and way too many legs. You could only scream as you were picked up, turned sideways and spun around, like a demented Catherine Wheel. Your vision turned white as thick webbing, which felt like the softest cotton wool ever, covered you.

It was an age of wriggling about, trying to scream in the hot cocoon and pleading for Thorin to save you; before you felt yourself being lowered gently.

The cotton wool ripped apart at your face and was peeled back by a handsome upside down dwarf. Your eyes blurred, sheer relief shifting through you. “You saved me.”

Thorin nodded, and you realised it was you who was upside down, the rest of your body still encased in its grisly cocoon. You licked your lips and watched cobalt eyes narrow. He moved in, and you experienced the best kiss ever.

Kissing Thorin Oakenshield while upside down!

It was heavenly as you instigated the thorough mapping of his mouth and lips. The strange feel of his wiry beard against your nose. His bottom lip, thick and full slid against your top lip. His tongue, wet and moist, sliding over yours. It was perfection and you wished you could freeze frame this moment, to pull out again and again just so you knew it was real.

Thorin changed to nipping at  your lips, teeth scraping against you shooting delicious tingles through your body, ending between your legs and sparking every nerve in your mound, leaving you on fire.

He bit down and you found yourself desperately struggling against the cocoon, wanting your hands free to grab the damn dwarf. You didn’t expect the pain that followed as your lover was snatched away, his teeth catching on your top lip. You stared in horror at the sharp point of a sword held at Thorin’s throat. The sword was attached to a long arm that joined to an impossibly tall elf.

“Do not think I won’t kill you, dwarf. It would be my pleasure.”

The pale-faced elf, with his long golden, elegant hair, spoke with disdain. A flick of his head had another elf notching an arrow and pointing it at Thorin’s head. You held your breath, eyes pleading with Thorin’s not to anger the elves that had surrounded the whole company.

Bits of spiders littered the area you now stood in after the elf commanded you be cut down. You were making a big show of rubbing your aching back after you fell to the ground in your cocoon, like some puppet with its strings cut. You groaned as you rubbed at a growing bump on your hip, and was pleased as the elf with the swelling eye, courtesy of Thorin’s fist, glared at you and called you something in his language. It must have been quite derogatory as it seemed a race between Thorin and Prince Legolas as to who would thump the elf first. Legolas won, only because three elves held Thorin back.

Afterwards, you were marched off in a row. Thorin had made sure to snatch your arm and pull you in front of him and the elven prince didn’t seem to mind as he merely ordered his elves to let it go and to get you all moving.

It was totally unfair that they knew the way through this forest, and yet they couldn’t help a single traveller navigate their way. It shouldn’t have mattered if it was dwarf, man or Klingon. They knew their forest held dangers and yet these mean elves were simply waiting for people to either be eaten or captured and weren't prepared to lift a damn finger unless they had to. You suspected the only reason they interfered was because they hated dwarves so much, they wanted the satisfaction of imprisoning them, rather than let them become the next stars of the All-You-Can-Eat spider buffet.

Bunch of flowery, air-headed, twerps!

Soon you were all brought to the palace of Thranduil. It was huge. A palace within a subterranean cavern, where the colossal roots of the trees above had been carved into walls, columns, stairs and pathways. You were impressed with their woodworking abilities and could understand why Dwalin referred to them as tree-huggers.

A kerfuffle behind you had you whipping around to see the company forcefully led in a separate direction to you and Thorin. It was as the last dwarf, Bombur, was pushed through the archway and down some stairs that you realised who was missing. Your eyes darted to Thorin’s and his returning stare told you he knew as well.

You were herded forcefully to the throne room, trying to hurry as every push from the guards only resulted in Thorin fighting back. You staggered after one brutal shove against your shoulder sent you knocking into a tree root column. Thorin yelled something in his language and with fury lashed out with an uppercut to the elf’s jaw, smashing away the vicious smirk. You realised they were doing this on purpose and quickly grabbed Thorin, standing in front of him to prevent the guards from beating him. “I do not need your protection.” He growled at you, you turned your head, catching him in your side vision.

“They want you to fight back. They’re doing this on purpose. What use are you if you’re beaten to a pulp.”

You were surprisingly forceful with your words, and Thorin snatched you up in his arms, holding you tight for a mere blink of an eye before spinning around, placing you once more in front of him and out of harm’s way, hopefully.

When at last you reached your destination, you had to shut your eyes and convince yourself you were seeing things. If elves had pimp palaces, you’d just stumbled into one.

It was cavernous and pale. Light filtered in from above somewhere and seemed to pinpoint the right places that the King of Bling wanted highlighted. Mainly himself, on his high throne, at the top of a set of stairs. Brazen didn’t describe it.

As you approached the seated king, who looked down on you both with utter boredom in his pale face, you could feel the arrogance pour off him. It was tangible and thick in the air, like the cooking fat at the old greasy spoon cafe down the road from your old flat.

You were stopped and Thorin stepped up beside you, keeping a lengthy gap between you.

“Some may imagine…” the elf began. You rolled your eyes, he was one of those people. You knew the type, the ones who loved to hear their own voice.

“…that a noble quest is at hand.” The elf king struck out of his chair, pretty spry for an old guy. He walked regally down the stairs. It would make your day if the king tripped right about now. Sadly he didn’t, despite your laser-beam stare. Oh, if you only had telekinetic powers!

He approached you both, looking down his long, straight nose. Eyes darting between you and Thorin, obviously trying to figure out this puzzle before him.

“A quest to reclaim a homeland and slay a dragon. I myself suspect a more prosaic motive. Attempted burglary, or something of that ilk.”

He stopped before you, glaring at you before a smirk slid across his lips. “Perhaps you have found a way in.” He continued, reaching out one hand and stripping a thick thread of webbing away from your hair, throwing it to the ground.

The heated growl beside you had that smirk evolving into a wide smile. “I offer a trade, from one king to another.” Thranduil continued in his royally annoying voice. “I will let you go, if you but return what is mine.”

“A favour for a favour?” Thorin piped up, his gravelly voice weighted down with his disdain for what was in front of him.

“Yes. A favour…” Thranduil grabbed your chin, pulling you head upwards, inspecting your face, “… for a favour.” There was a threat buried in his words.

“And if I refuse?” Thorin didn’t dance to anyone else’s tune. He wasn’t about to start now, and didn’t that just make you love this dwarf more. Thranduil could tap dance with his words all he liked. Thorin, he just metaphorically cut through bullshit with a chainsaw.

That pleasant facade on the elf’s face faded. The niceties were over and dwarf and elf had the measure of each other. You pulled your face out of Thranduil’s grip, rubbing your chin.

“I believe,” Thranduil tapped his chin with one finger, “That given the right motivation, one can achieve anything.”

You frowned at the king and though you wanted to, you couldn’t turn your head to look at Thorin. All you could see were pale blue eyes, reflecting starlight. They reminded you of Thorin’s eyes, but not as warm or filled with life.

“I know what it feels like to have something precious stolen from you.”

Were you in a tunnel? Everything echoed and the light seemed to pulse around you. You heard your name called, but couldn’t respond. Why was it always you that seemed to spend your time in weird dazes?

“Agree to my terms and you will be free to leave.”

“Agree, to your terms? You, who lack all honour.” Oh, the beauty of a snarly Thorin.

Arms surrounded you, and your face was pressed against the flat, hard chest of…somebody. You weren’t quite clear on what was happening.

“Release her!” Thorin! That was Thorin, yelling, angrily. Yay, go team Thorin. Oh, your mind was definitely addled.

“You will agree to my terms.” Your body was tilted, your back arching as a finger traced over your lips and down your throat. “I can smell her innocence.” Oh, now that was just plain rude.

“I can steal something so very precious from you, King under the Mountain.”

“Imrid amrâd 'arasî!”

You tried so hard to look away from those eyes that held yours.

“Is that your final word, Oakenshield?” Hands clenched you painfully, snapping you back arcing pain through your bruised hips as you bent unnaturally.

“Ish kakhfê ai’d dur rugnu!”

A hand seized your throat, and you squeezed your eyes shut as your mouth was brutally invaded. The sound of scuffling came to you from a distance.

You tried to wrench away from the cold thin lips on yours, when his tongue speared into your mouth, thin and cold you bit down. Only for the hand at your throat to tighten, you could feel yourself being strangled and had no choice but to relent to the invasion. It sickened you and for a moment you thought you would throw up, you fought it down knowing it would be so much worse for you if you did that.

Thranduil ripped his mouth from yours and you were tossed like a rag-doll into a hard body. You coughed and heaved, trying to snatch at the air to get needed oxygen back into your lungs.

Your legs crumbled, but you didn’t fall. An arm braced under your shaking legs and you were swept up against the solid body of your protector. You hurled your arms around him, burying your head in his neck and hair hiding away as you still wheezed and choked.

““Stay here if you will, and rot. A hundred years is a mere blink in the life of an elf. I am patient. I can wait. Take them!”

Thorin was moving swiftly, his arms holding you tight, bridal style, as you were led to your new home. When an elf tried to drag you from Thorin’s arms you screamed hoarsely and scrabbled to hold on, digging your nails into skin not caring who it was you scratched.

Words were shouted and yelled. You recognised the voices of the other dwarves. “Leave them!” was commanded, and you heard the clang of the metal door as you were shut away.

Pressed against Thorin’s chest as you were you could hear his fierce heartbeat thudding loudly against you.

“I am sorry.” The softly spoken words carried a strong tinge of shame. “My Father has gone too far. I will not see your Lady-Love taken from your care. She will need you.”

You felt Thorin’s nod and knew if Legolas was expecting a reply, he’d have more luck marrying Smaug.

The softest of footfalls let you know the elves had left, and Thorin relaxing his stance reinforced that thought.

Alone, at last, you did the only thing you could. You burst into tears.

You tried to apologise feeling that this was all your fault, you didn’t want Thranduil to kiss you, you hated it and as you tried to speak through your crying and sniffing nothing sounded right.

Thorin was on the small bed holding you tight, one hand stroking your hair, talking over your muffled words that he was sorry for putting you in such danger.

You cried harder at his apology and soon you were both silent, except for your occasional hiccough and sniffing.

***

You didn’t remember falling asleep, but you awoke at the sound of a tray being placed down on the rock floor, hard enough to knock the food off the plate and onto the wooden tray.

You watched the door bang shut and knew someone should go pick up the food, but you didn’t have the energy to care right now.

Instead, you turned over, thinking you’d be facing the wall. Thorin lay there, eyes open, watching you intently.

You wanted to smile at him, but your muscles wouldn’t obey. It was as though every joyful thing in your world had been sucked out.

Slowly, Thorin raised a hand, carefully bringing it towards you. Before placing it on your cheek. Whatever he was expecting, didn’t happen and you watched relief smooth over his face as his eyes closed and his breath poured out. Did he think you wouldn’t want his touch?

Now that you thought about it, if it had been anyone but this dwarf? Yes, you would likely have flinched. Thorin, though, was your world. How it came to be, you couldn’t understand. All you could presume is that this is what real love was. Knowing that when life is at its most darkest and depressing, having something good and dependable, something strong and unbreakable made all the difference.

“I love you.” You had to say it. Even though your eyes filled with tears, you couldn’t keep it in.

“Please,” you pleaded croakily, “Please, take it away. I can feel it still.”

Thorin frowned, “It’s in here,” you pointed to your mouth. He just stared blankly at you. You sighed, began to turn away. Maybe you should go get the flask of water.

Thorin stopped you, making you lay down as he climbed over you. Retrieving the flask he came back and sat beside you.

“You want to feel clean?”

You nodded.

Thorin stared hard at you. “You want me to take away the taste?”

“Please,” you sounded desperate, but couldn’t feel embarrassed.

He popped the top off the flask and took a mouthful, washing it around his mouth before swallowing. Taking another mouthful, he held it, leant down and you felt the water, warmed by his mouth trickle into yours. It tasted of Thorin!

You grabbed his face, holding him still as you accepted every drop, swallowing it with relief despite the bruising in your throat. You wanted more and thrust your tongue into his mouth, lapping at your lover, savouring every little taste of him.

Slowly, carefully, with exquisite tenderness, Thorin began to respond. It was the gentlest of brushes with his tongue as he began to return every lick.

He turned this kiss on its head. That remarkably agile tongue learning every part. The slight overbite of your front top teeth, the small chip in your back tooth. The natural curve of the roof of your mouth. He was everywhere, and it was so gentle, so loving.

You breathed in deeply through your nose, taking in the scent of Thorin. Sandalwood, spicy and masculine and the barest hint of honeysuckle, his sweetness divine.

It was too much and you pushed up, rising with him. Your hands grabbed at his clothes, “Off,” you demanded and when he settled your hands against his chest and gave you that look you just shook your head.

“No. No more waiting. I need you.”

He opened his mouth, his face gentle and sorrowful. You hushed him with a kiss.

“Please,” you begged, “Love me.”

You waited, holding your breath as he stared at you. Those blue eyes, so hypnotic, as you watched emotions flitter through them. Caution, concern, fear, of what you didn’t know. Finally, resolve filtered through and a sharp nod was your answer.

You tried to wrench your hands free.

“No. If we do this, we do this my way.”

You tried to argue, but this time, Thorin silenced you with a kiss.

He started slow, agonisingly slow. You wanted fast, hard and perhaps a little desperate. He wasn’t about to be rushed.

He began with your hands, tracing every line, finger, knuckle, moving to your wrists, pushing your sleeves up as he brought his mouth to your pulse.

The sensations strumming through you were numerous and you didn’t have time to analyse anything. Too swiftly was this power, he was creating, building in you.

Next his hands settled on your coat, still covered in webbing and he pulled it down your arms, leaving it below your elbows.

He made sure you were watching his eyes as he reached up and slipped each button of your shirt free. He rolled it down your body, tangling it with your coat. As you tried to shuck free you realised he’d trapped you. You couldn’t move either arm enough to yank the clothes off.

You gawped at him, eyes bugging as that smirk tilted up his luscious lips. “I told you it was my way.”

You should’ve paid attention. Should’ve heard the warning, because now you were certain that receiving the love of Thorin Oakenshield would mean you were going to be well and truly…

Fucked!

And in a fit of complete childishness, you answered the only way you could. “Bring it on!”

You didn’t know how he knew, but really you shouldn’t have expected any less. Not from him. Yes, you’d had an experience you never wanted to repeat, and you’d cried your heart out. No, you weren’t over it. Yes, you knew it could’ve been worse. However, Thorin’s initial fear had perhaps shaken you more and put things into perspective. It had made you see how deep your feelings went, and how deep his did too.

Thorin wasn’t about to treat you like a fractured vase, ready to shatter at the slightest knock. His cleansing kiss had made the difference, he wasn’t afraid to touch you, he didn’t see you as any less. He didn’t blame you or himself.

True, you didn’t fancy Thranduil’s chances if they met again because you knew the dwarf king would beat the shit out of the elf king.

It pleased you, made you feel secure in yourself that your dwarf lover was ready to ravish you because he truly thought you were sexy and beautiful.

His only concern as he ran his fingertips over you, were the deep brown bruises around your neck. You’d watched the gentleness in his eyes, chased away by the fury. You didn’t need to be a mind reader to know Thorin was envisioning a dark future for the elf.

Then, like windscreen wipers on the windshield, the look was wiped away. A different flame lit him from within as his fingers ran down your chest and over your breasts.

He learnt every part of you, every perfection and every flaw. Every goose-bump and blemish. Nothing was left undiscovered as he mapped your body. He traced the outline of your birthmark with his little finger, following up by tasting it. His tongue licked your bruises, sliding down to the upper curves of your breasts, he meandered all over, purposefully ignoring where you wanted him to go. When he licked at the underside of your breast you grabbed at him. Staring wide-eyed. You’d never known that was such a sensitive place. He knew and his dark look promised there would be so much more.

You were laid in the curve of his arms, and he lowered you the rest of the way to the rickety cot. Your arms still trapped, he continued his exploration, gliding his tongue down to your belly button, flicking it like a snake scenting the air.

You were panting now, unable to free yourself, having to endure exquisite torture.

He began to undo your trousers, slowly revealing your pale pink skin. You wished you’d had the foresight to tidy yourself first. He seeing down there was starting to make you feel a little embarrassed.

Of course there was nothing different, you hoped, to any other woman he’d had. Still the drive to look as sexy as hell for him had you trying to sit up and your legs snapping shut.

He didn’t seem to notice as his hands moved to your thighs, massaging you tenderly. He kept this up for each leg, moving to your ankles, taking off your boots and socks.

Casting you a look of sheer seduction, he grazed his body up yours. His tunic made of rough, bobbly material scraping against your nipples. Face to face he slanted his head and pressed a kiss to you that had you grabbing at his body trying everything to near absorb the dwarf.

He didn’t seem to mind your hands messing up his hair as you reached as much of him as you could with your trapped hands. You accidentally caught a braid and heard the ping of metal hit the floor. You pulled back trying to apologise, but he just dived back in keeping your mouth occupied. Your brain addled.

His finger sliding over your nub forced your eyes wide, staring into his. How the hell? Sneaky dwarf was sneaky!

His finger glided and rubbed, seeming to know instinctively how to excite and inflame you. A quick flick had you throwing your head back, mouth wide, gasping. A twist and your head buried itself in his shoulder, panting. A pinch and your hips thrust up against him. Oh, God, it was like he was playing a tune with your body, turning you into a delicious melody.

He began a slow, rhythmic circling of your bud, his nail catching you at odd times, you bucked, flinched, hissed and groaned. It wasn’t enough, though. He was building you so slowly, and it was torture. He wouldn’t be hurried and when you tried to grab his hand to speed his movements he stopped. Staring at you whilst you tried to catch him, you knew the command he was silently giving you. Obeying, at last, you closed your eyes and bit your bottom lip as you moved your hand away. Hands at your sides, still trapped by your shirt and coat you lay there unable to do anything but feel.

It was madness. It was like burning with a fever, the sweat gathered at your temples, across your forehead, between your breasts. Your hips began their own dance and still he maintained that slow motion.

Every so often he would tease your opening with his thumb, barely entering you. When he dragged his finger away, you keened, only for him to bring it back to your nub with your wetness. That should not have been as hot as it was. You groaned his name, murmuring you loved him, you needed him, begging him to just take you.

He ignored you.

When he reached up with his other hand and sucked his middle finger into his mouth you cursed him, loudly. He smirked at you. You glared back, seeing if you could channel your inner hulk and rip your clothes off, they disappointingly stayed whole.

He took that middle finger, wet from his mouth and dragged it over your lips, he didn’t need to force you. You inhaled the digit, tongue swirling around it, dragging off every last bit of his taste.

Ripping his finger away he replaced it with his hot mouth, his tongue tangling with yours, lips smashing together. He ravished your mouth and once more you were lost to what he was doing.

When his finger began sliding into you, instinct had you pulling your hips away. “I’m sorry,” feeling your face redden, you smiled embarrassedly. Not quite sure why you pulled away.

Thorin only responded by kissing your forehead, fluttery kisses, like butterfly wings. He moved to your eyes closing each one with a sensual brush of his mouth. He drifted over to your ear, moving your hair out of the way with his nose, flicking into your ear and making you squirm at the cool, wet touch.

Down below his finger began sliding gently in and out, never going deep. His thumb began to brush your nub every time he pushed in. His kisses were angling down your jaw towards your mouth. How could he multitask like this, you could barely focus on any one thing he was doing.

“Don’t think.” He whispered against your mouth and you determinedly snapped your eyes shut and tried to let your own instincts take over.

His thumb pressed against your clit and your hips rolled up, pushing his finger deeper, you flinched at the tightness.

“Gently,” he commanded and you obeyed. Your inner Pavlovian eagerly rising in your mind.

It was you now seeing to your body’s demands. Your hips rose steadily, slowly, pushing him deeper, his thumb frozen as your natural movements shifted your clit against his calluses.

Heaven and hell! It had to be. You were close, his finger filled you, his thumb pleasured you, but you just couldn’t reach the pinnacle. You began to shake your head, fury reddening your face as you tried your damnedest.

What was wrong with you?

“Shhh,” he soothed you softly and you could only growl. Growl!

This was wrong, it was supposed to be beautiful and right. Not you messing it up. He’d made you come before easily, and you couldn’t even please him now. Was this Thranduil’s work?

“Just stop.” You bit out. Infuriated at your obvious defect.

“Stop!” you froze at the angry command. It had seemed such a long time since you’d been the recipient of Thorin’s ire. “You cannot reach completion.”

Oh, just rub it in dwarf (no pun intended). You turned away, adamantly refusing to look at him when his hand pressed against the underside of your jaw.

You should have known better. His fingers grabbed at your chin and pulled your head back to him. “Do not turn away from me again.”

“Fuck off, dwarf.” You snarled at him.

He took a deep breath seemingly trying to push down the anger. Lowering his head to your shoulder, you could feel his tremble of rage.

It took you back to Goblin Town. When a particularly ugly goblin had tried to slash at you, Thorin had dived between you, countering the sword strike. The sparks shooting off clanging blades. You were trapped against a wall, Thorin’s back against you, and you felt his body, the tremor in him as he stabbed, parried, lunged and hacked. The same wrath burned through him, and you knew it took everything that he was to shove that ire down. When he rose up, his hair hanging down, curtaining you both away from the real world.

“It is an elven trick,” he ground out through clenched teeth and thinned lips. “They play it on their women.”

What the hell! “Well, what is it?”

“It is an elvish trick that stops you from reaching completion.”

“Will I never—” you couldn’t live your life like that.

“Yes,” he snarled, “but only after I have—” he broke off, glancing up. In a lower voice, he continued, deliberately not looking at you, “I understand now, what the prince meant.”

He explained softly, “Elleth’s can have family remove it. Only family. If they have none, a special healer or they can have an elf remove it physically.”

You shook your head, not getting it.

“There is a counter spell to their elvish magic, but it can only be used by the family or a special healer.”

“Okay…”

“If no family or healer,” and now he was speaking to you like you were five, “then the elleth can seek a male to remove it physically.”

You didn’t like where this was going. “Oh, God,” you whispered. “Do you mean…” You couldn’t continue, you could feel the blood rushing from your face, bile swirled in your stomach.

“No, my love, no. Never that. The one who casts it is not the one who has to physically break it.”

You were silent, mulling over his words. Elves were sick little puppies. Really, who thought that this was a funny little trick to play on each other? It was forcing a woman out of her choice.

“I do not defend, because I do not understand, but my Grandfather told me it is just their way. For some, it increases the eroticism of their joining.”

Thorin sighed, his breath whooshing over you. You knew this was going to be a doozy. “It was how I was conceived.”

Your mouth dropped open, eyes bulging, “You’re shitting me!”

He licked his lips, “I only know what I was told. My father and mother tried many times to conceive, it caused much heartache in their marriage.” You tried to bring your hands up far enough to reach his face.

Slamming your head down, you whispered another curse. Thorin sat up, pulling you up like a doll, and began freeing your arms. “Before the rift began. Thranduil gifted them with this. My Grandfather approved, thinking only it would heal their marriage. That night they conceived me.”

He hadn’t looked at you through the explanation. He held your shirt and coat in his hands, playing with the material. You never guessed he could feel uneasy. Right now though that’s what he looked like, an awkward little boy.

“So, if we continue…” you swallowed hard, making the biggest decision of your life. “Will I… Will I get pregnant?”

Thorin’s head shot up. “There’s a chance, but not because of elvish devilry.”

“Oh.”

You hadn’t quite meant to sound so disappointed, but in those few moments, you’d made a monumental decision and had followed it up with lots of cute images.

“You want to conceive?” Thorin looked stunned.

“No! Well, I guess not, it’s just…my imagination ran away with me, okay.”

“But if you did?” He angled his head away from you, looking at you sideways.

You shook your head, “Look, it was me being stupid.” You explained, “I got caught up in the moment.”

“You did not answer my question.”

“Thorin!”

He spoke your name in that quiet, serious, time to be an adult tone.

“If it happened, and like you say, that’s a big if…” you licked your lips, stared anywhere but at him and shot out, “Iwouldn’tbeunhappy.”

Thorin rose from the cot, standing beside you, staring down at the top of your head. You could feel his eyes on you and couldn’t help fidgeting.

“Look at me.” You obeyed, objecting with a loud sigh.

“You have been cursed with elvish magic, you cannot climax by your own hand or mine, until the innocence within you is gone and I have spilt my seed in you.” Oh, so that explained what that pale-faced twat had done to you.

Though your dwarf had a way with words. The whole spilling his seed talk was actually starting to make you feel a little horny.

“Earlier you were begging me to love you. Now, you inform me you would want my babe in your belly.”

Well, nothing like making you feel like a fool.

You held up your hand to stop him. “Look, it’s been a really bad night. You don’t have to summarise.”

He inclined his head in his super-cool way of agreeing with you.

“What would make this a good night?”

You thought about his question, mulishly picking at the thin blanket beneath you. Shaking your head you answered, “To stick one to that damn elf, just so he’ll know he didn’t beat us. Then we escape.” You nodded happily at that answer.

“Then my love, we shall stick one to that elf.”

Your head shot up, watching your dwarf. Thorin’s smug smile made an appearance as he took a step back. Holding out his hand he waited for you to accept. Smiling devilishly, you couldn’t help wrinkling your nose in a cute but evil way.

Hand in his, Thorin pulled you up and you stood facing him as he stepped in and dropped his hands to your hips. “What do you call it?”

You leant in whispering in his ear. “Ah, yes,” he agreed as he stood back, “Very well. My love, prepare to be… Fucked six ways from Sunday!”

You giggled and he yanked your trousers down.

***

You decided right then and there, that even though you were in a dingy, dimly-lit, dank, dungeon cell that watching Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain, strip for you was the best experience so far in your life.

You’d had the time, after he placed you on the cot reverently, to ask how he knew what Thranduil had done to you.

Thorin shrugged out that he’d guessed when you hadn’t come easily like you usually did. You frowned at that answer. His words stung a little and you told him you weren’t easy. The miscommunication was echoed back with his own frown. You explained you’d only ever had one boyfriend, and it didn’t really get far.

Then you’d had to explain that relationship. That was fast moving on to the whole sex before marriage discussion and you halted it with a hand in his face quipping that your ex obviously wasn’t as experienced as Thorin. This worked like a charm as the dwarf went bright red, and you noticed that even his ears went red.

Yeah, someone didn’t like being called easy either.

Now though you laid on the wobbly cot, naked as the day you were born and feeling surprisingly unabashed. Watching those last layers peel away from the dwarf.

He was delicious. Yummy. Scrumptious. Very edible.

And not what you would have gone for. That was the strangest damn thing. Thorin was hairier, not overly so, but dark hair covered his arms and legs and nearly all his chest, leading down to a thick line that travelled down his really muscular stomach past his cute little belly button, then further down disappearing into his breeches.

Oh, lordy those breeches were tight.

It didn’t help that Little Thorin was making his presence known in a BIG way! How the dwarf hadn’t lost circulation there was anyone’s guess.

When it finally came to unlacing those breeches and peeling them away, your mouth watered and you couldn’t help rubbing your thighs together trying to ease the tingles.

When he stood back up, Little Thorin jutted out, wagging at you. You burst out laughing.

You were damn lucky the dwarf was comfortable with his body or this could have ruined the night. Thorin smirked and shimmied his hips. You busted out laughing and waved him over. The last thing you wanted was any guards taking an interest. Not that you’d been thinking about who had perhaps walked by your cell already.

Thorin smoothly glided over, all sexy-like. He laid down beside you, enveloping you in his arms, pressing his brawny body against yours.

Wow, he was his own furnace. The air was chilly, but not overly so. Very much like a normal British evening in summer.

And that hair, not wiry or coarse as you had first thought. There was lots of it, true, but it was soft, silky even. You couldn’t help running your fingers through it. And then you found the first scar. You wouldn’t let it ruin your mood. Dwarves valued their scars, each one told a story. Some of their craft and others of their great skill. For Thorin, it told of his survival and struggle. His need to lead his people, his role to be a good son, his loyalty, his honour, his warrior prowess. It made him who he was now. For that alone, you treasured every scar with a sweet kiss. You vowed never to ask where they all came from, and how he got them.

Touching him so freely on his chest allowed you to lower your hands. Aiming for the royal sceptre, you smirked and waggled your brows. This would be something new. True, you’d given him a damn good blow job before, but you didn’t have as much light, deficient as it was, to see him clearly.

Was he normal for a dwarf, or was he considered well-endowed? You really wanted to ask but pushed it aside as you traced a finger over him. You could feel the ridges of the thick veins inside him pulsing with blood, running over the engorged head, over that tiny slit that had him bucking and heaving in a breath or two.

Gathering your courage you encircled him with your hand, and when your fingers didn’t meet, you gulped. Your eyes flicked up to his, hoping he didn’t see your worry. “It will fit.” Crap, you hated sometimes that he could read you like a frickin’ picture book.

Taking a deep breath you carried on your exploration. His skin was soft to the touch, and the heat from him was amazing. Little Thorin was a built in hand warmer. The devilish streak crept up and you couldn’t help giving him a few good solid pumps. Thorin snatched your hand away, bringing it to his mouth. He had a huge smile pasted on his face. “You are a vixen.”

“Well that’s an improvement on a black widow, I suppose.”

Mentioning spiders probably wasn’t a good idea considering what had happened since you’d all approached Mirkwood. And, you still wondered what that was about.

Thorin shrugged, clearly herding you in the right direction with your thoughts as he kissed and licked your palm.

He began moving his kisses upwards, to your wrist, kissing your pounding pulse. The crease in your arm, a sucking kiss on your shoulder. His other hand was equally busy, laid on it as he was, he could move it enough to find your nipple. His fingers played, plucking and tugging. Coaxing your nipple to respond, and it did. Vigorously.

His mouth reached your neck and he pressed you down to your back, following you, one leg slipping between yours.

He sprinkled light kisses over your throat, making sure he kissed every bruise. Your hands busied themselves running through his hair, noticing that he only had one braid now. Over his shoulders you mapped your way down his back, finding more scars. You scraped your nails up his back and the dwarf arched violently.

“Shit. I’m sorry.” You tried to rub your hands over his back to soothe him. Grimacing you waited for him to say something. “Again!”

Okay, that’s definitely not what you expected, but you weren’t about to argue. You did it again and his mouth latched onto your throat, you could feel him sucking and biting. Your hands grabbed his shoulders, scratching his arms and the dwarf thrust against you hard.

Before you knew what was happening you were both a tangle of limbs, he’d pulled your leg out from under him to fit himself between you. His cock rubbed against your clit, and you could feel your juices covering him. You didn’t want it to build in you, not wanting to experience that same feeling again. “Now,” you pleaded.

“You’re not ready,” he growled, shoving his hand between you, his finger easing in.

“I am,” you argued.

Thorin shook his head, “Let me prepare you. It will be painful, trust me.”

You deliberately scratched him hard down his back and the dwarf stabbed at you. His head came up, a warning in his glare. “You are a virgin, your first time will be hard on you.”

“No, it won’t. I can take it.”

He bit out your name through his teeth. “Do not make this harder.”

“Oh for fuck sake, Thorin.” You growled at him, “I’ve ridden a bike for fifteen years, I’ve had smear tests. Trust me, whatever was there is long gone.”

He frowned, “A bike?”

“Thorin!”

“I will not hurt you.”

“Just stick it in you, idiot.”

Well as romance went…

“You are infuriating.” Oh, he just had to have the last word, not.

“And you’re being an overly cautious prick.”

“Bitch.”

OMG! WTF!

You felt him rub his cock against you impatiently, his face scrunched up in anger.

“I warn you, this will hurt.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“By Mahal, why have I chosen a harpy for a wife. Our marriage bed will not be like this, I assure you.”

“Oh, so now we’re getting married.”

“Of course, we’re getting married,” he hissed out the words, “I’m about to fuck you six ways from Sunday.”

And on that, with him getting the last words, he slammed his mouth down on yours and pushed in.

You felt the slightest of pinches and he settled in nicely. Really, you didn’t know what all the fuss was about.

Gentling his kiss, he peeled your lips apart slowly. You both breathed heavily, both staring at the other, absorbing every sensation of being intimately joined.

It was beautiful and right, and you couldn’t help telling him so. He smiled sarcastically and began to pull out.

“It must be so cumbersome, woman, to be right all the time.”

Oh, now that right there was fightin’ talk.

“Erm…Thorin?”

“What?”

“Have you ever heard of the kegel muscles?”

You squeezed hard on his down-stroke. The dwarf choked, gurgled, growled, went bright red and his eyes bugged out like golf balls. You honestly thought for a moment that his head was going to explode.

Whatever curse or prayer he spoke only spurred you on and you both ended setting up a delicious rhythm thrusting against each other, while squeezing those lovely little muscles.

“Oh, God, it's building again.” You couldn’t help whining.

Thorin narrowed his eyes, “It won’t be long.”

“How do you know?” you managed to get the words out. How he could talk easily when you were so out of breath was just plain unfair.

“I’m nearly there,” he didn’t mean to yell and you could see his concern as his eyes flicked to the iron door.

Oh, wasn’t that just typical, he had to come first. That shitty elf would feel your fist one of these days, right in his frickin’ gonads.

Thorin, bless him, was now huffing and puffing. Sweat covering his face, his chest. His hair sticking to you, rubbing over your sensitised nipples.

Your climax was building hard, your muscles starting to clamp down by themselves. Which made less work for you, until you got the first cramp of pain.

You moaned in pain. “Hurry,” You begged.

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder, please.” You scrunched your eyes shut. Thorin thrust quicker, harder, deeper. Lunging into you, whilst his hands linked with yours, and he pressed apologetic kisses to your face.

“I love you.” He murmured against your cheek.

Your muscles clenched hard and Thorin seized up for a moment. You shook your head, this wasn’t fun anymore. “Forgive me.” You could hear the agony in his voice. Slipping his arm under your leg he pulled it up to his elbow. Taking a deep breath, he plunged into you. He just needed to come once, right? Oh, God, please let that be where it ends.

You watched his muscles flexing in his stomach, it should have been a delicious sight. His head bowed low, his long hair dangling over your chest, he whispered pleas and curses.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You began pushing at him, wanting him out of you. And as you began crying from the pain, his head shot back, and he bucked hard into you. You were so tender, you could feel him pulsating inside you. When he thrust hard for the last time you tried pushing him off of you. His hand slapped yours away before diving between your legs, his thumb finding your clit.

“No. No!” you couldn’t take anymore. He rubbed at you quickly and you slapped at his chest. Turning your open hands into fists as the pain grew, punching at him. He ducked his face away from you, avoiding your blows.

You weren't expecting it when it hit. It was pain, total pain, every muscle in your body cramped up. Your back arched feeling like you were about to snap in two. Next came an awful shaking that made even your teeth rattle and your body snapped tautly. You couldn’t take a breath, and you could feel your heart pounding. A hurt slashed up into your head and you bit down on your tongue. Screaming through clenched lips your eyes snapped open to a frantic Thorin, begging you to breath.

Then, with the speed of a lightning strike your body collapsed and you felt as though every bone had just disappeared in your body.

Thorin had his hands on your cheeks, pressing your mouth open. “Breathe,” he pleaded, “Just breathe.”

His blue eyes were watery, panic painted his face and you could almost feel his heart breaking into pieces. When you’d decided that this was it. This was the moment of your death, your lungs pulled in a huge gulp of air, letting it out with a coughing wheeze.

Bundled up in his arms, kisses pressed frantically over your face, “I never want to see that again.” He snapped. “You will never die. That’s a command.”

You wanted to laugh, well it was funny in a not-so-funny way. Relief poured through your floppy body and you were able to get some control of one arm and wrapped it around your love, stroking his back.

His heart beat violently and you could feel the drumming vibrating through his back. It shocked you to think he was terrified. This brave warrior, this king, this lover of yours. An unshakable presence in your life since you fell into this world.

God, how you loved him.

“I’m going to kill that elf.” Thorin murmured, his hands ran over your arms as he shifted downwards, pressing his ear to your chest, over your heart.

“Slowly, thoroughly, painfully.” He pressed a kiss to your heart. “I’m going to shove my fist down his throat and watch him choke.”

He licked the underside of your breast. It was nice, but you weren’t sure you ever wanted to be touched sexually again.

His tongue travelled up to your nipple that betrayed you and stretched out to his mouth. You tried to roll away.

“No.” You shot a look at Thorin. His face was creased with heartache. Those beautiful blue eyes dulled by all that had been experienced.

“I don’t think I can do this, Thorin,” You whispered, and it sounded broken.

“You will.” There was the arrogant king, making his presence known. You flared at his words, ready to call him a selfish bastard.

“Know this, My Wife,” he pressed his forehead to yours. “In this cell, I made a promise to fuck you six ways from Sunday. I will keep that promise.”

He moistened his lips, inadvertently licking your lips in the process, you were too dazed by that word he used to force a protest. “I will love you thoroughly,” he continued, “I will make you come many times, until I bathe in your juices.” He took a deep breath, clearly trying to press down his emotions.

“Know this, Wife,” there was that word again. “Every time I make you come, you will scream my name, and tell me you love me.”

His hand pressed to your cheek, his thumb tenderly liberating a tear. “He will not take this from us. I will not allow him to take your pleasure from you. I will fight for you, with my very last breath if need be.”

You gazed into those clear blue eyes, seeing the swirling emotions that he tried to hide. You’d been so focused on yourself. On what had been done to you. Now you took the time to think what had been done to him.

In your world, no meant no. Any man that ignored that was labelled a rapist, whether by law or by reputation.

You’d said no. Countless times. Yet he’d had no choice but to continue, to do whatever it took. To fight for you. How damaging that must have been. The moment you met this dwarf king you could feel his power, it was made up of his bloodline, his dignity, his honour.

You’d vexed him many a time and he’d saved you so many more. Oh, he shouted, he disparaged, but he never raised a hand to you, never let another do so either.

How much of his soul did this cost him?

There really was only one answer.

You pushed at him, “Roll over.” You commanded and he obeyed. You climbed on top of him, pressing your forehead to his. “I love you, Thorin, son of Thrain, King under the Mountain.” You kissed him, “King of my heart.”

You’d never seduced any male before. You’d always been scared, wondering if you’d please them. As you gently, tenderly seduced your _husband_ , you knew now the difference. It was easy to seduce someone you loved with every part of who you are.

And when he trembled beneath you, begging in gravelled whispers for you to end his torture, you slid onto him. Slowly moving your body, feeling you becoming one with him, moving in tandem to a delicious melody of life.

As you peaked, you threw your head back, screaming his name, rising above him, back arched, looking to him like an angel, crying out your love for him.

As he reached his climax, he called you wife, promising to love you for eternity.

***

You were dreaming. Thorin was taking you from behind. One hand over your hip, his thumb hastening you on. You smiled dreamily, feeling every sensation. The different angle meant he rubbed every single nerve inside you as he slid in, slowly.

You couldn’t hold back from your climax, you tried because this was too delicious to ever be over.

You came awake to a shuddering climax. Your muscles clamping down, your body trembling. Mortification galloped through you, and you prayed Thorin was still asleep.

A kiss to your shoulder blade, “You’re awake, that’s good.” You perked your head up, trying to roll over and look at him, but he stopped you. His fingers were busy between your legs and when he pushed into you again, you realised this was the way you always wanted to wake up.

He kept that slow stroke going, continuously. His breath fanning over the back of your neck, his fingers driving wild sensations through you.  Each rub against sensitised nerves had you pushing back against him, searching for more.

When eventually he let you come, it was only because he’d tormented the words out of you. Thorin wanting to hear you say his name, and tell him you loved him.

He proceeded to make you come twice more in the same fashion before he emptied himself inside you with your new title on his lips.

If you’d realised how the rest of your stay in that cell was to be, you may have insisted you’d had enough then. But, hindsight was twenty/twenty, as they say.

***

You eyed the dwarf nervously. He had that look again. That damn horny look. The one he’d given you right before pushing you up on all fours and slamming himself into you.

The same look when he made you ride him roughly on the cell floor, and when he fucked you fast against the rough-hewn wall of your cell.

Yes, that same look when you’d pleaded about being sore and he’d buried his head between your legs and licked you to completion four times.

You honestly didn’t think you had a single drop of liquid left in your body, you felt desiccated, sure your skin was wrinkling like a dried up prune.

Still the dwarf managed to persuade you with soul-drugging kisses and sweet words. He’d murmur in your ear about all the beautiful babies you’d make together. How he wanted your daughters to have your eyes, your smile, your laugh. God, he was good at the sweet talking.

When he’d spoken about imagining making sweet tender love to you, while your belly was full of child. It had heated you enough to pounce on him, you’d sucked him hard and when he was near, you’d impaled yourself on him. Demanding he come first, crying your name and telling you how much he loved you. He’d called you wife in that way that encompassed all his love and regard for you. It was more than enough.

Now, though, with his head tilted down, that half smile decorating his handsome features you backed up on the cot shaking your head.

He gave you his wounded and deprived look. You didn’t realise the damn dwarf could be such a brat if he didn’t get his own way.

You rubbed a hand over your eyes. It was a bad move. You knew you shouldn’t take your eyes off him. You were grabbed, tossed around, your knees hitting the blanket covering the floor. Your body resting on the cot. “If you don’t want me, Wife, then why are you so wet for me?”

Brat!

He slid in cutting off your answer with a low moan. He felt perfect inside you, you could never deny that. You just really wanted a drink and some sleep.

You braced your body and let it happen. Slow, fast, hard, rough, smooth, deep, it didn’t matter how he fucked you, it was all so good.

This time, it was smooth combined with deep. His girth enough to rub your nerves, yet leaving you urging him for more. He settled deep with every thrust forcing a gasp from you.

Thorin pulled you upright, you sank deeper onto him. “Feel me,” his words harsh, gravelly, caught in his own sensations. He grabbed your hand, placed it flat on your lower belly. He pressed hard and you shuddered. Oh, God, you could feel him, from behind the wall of your womb, the flesh of your belly, you could feel him inside you with your hand.

He pulled out, your flesh softening beneath your joined hands, he thrust in, and you could feel it, inside and now out. There were no words eloquent enough to describe this moment.

“I want this,” he whispered, “I want this to be the one.” You turned your face sideways into his lips. “Oh Mahal, let this be the one. Let me place our babe in your belly.”

And that forced an all mighty powerful climax through you. You clamped down on him hard stilling his movements until your climax slipped away.

Pulling out he turned you around, staring at you. His face so open and innocent, so needy. You grabbed his ears, forcing his mouth down to your lips. You ravished his mouth, your tongue battling his, your teeth clashing. His beard, oh that prickly goodness had rubbed you near sore between your legs, now brushed over your chin.

Your back hit the straw mattress, he fitted easily between your legs and pushed in. You both stopped to breathe deep, enjoying the moment of joining. Thorin pushed up on his knees, his hands gripping your hips raising them. He began his slow, deep thrusts, moving up in tempo to pounding into you.

“Thorin!”

He stilled at the sound. Flicking his gaze to the dungeon cell.

He didn’t pull out of you as he narrowed his eyes. “Dwalin?”

You tried to scrabble for something to cover you, but the glance you received warned you not to move.

“We’ve got a way to escape. If you would allow the lass to dress, we can get out of here.”

Oh God, they all knew what you were doing. A voice inside reminded you that neither of you had been quiet, so everyone knew anyway, and worrying now was pointless.

Thorin drifted a hand over your belly, up to your breasts, plucking at your nipples. “Give me some time.”

You squawked at him, not sure what you were trying to say. Even Thorin tilted his head and looked like he was trying to decipher it. He shrugged, obviously not interested in your words and slid deeper into you.

“Thorin, what are you doing?” you echoed Dwalin’s disbelief with a shake of your head.

“Dwalin?”

“Yes?”

“Do you know how dwarflings are made?”

“Of course I do!” Dwalin hissed back.

“Then,” Thorin shouted, “You know what I am doing. Give me a moment!”

You covered your face with your hands, stifling your giggle as you heard squawked sounds coming from beyond your cell.

Thorin glared at you and settled on a deep pounding rhythm until you came hard, and he went cross-eyed as he came harder still.

***

Escape from Mirkwood in barrels. Reading about it was different to experiencing it. You loved waterslides, rollercoasters, you’d probably love bungee jumping if you ever had the chance. But riding in barrels down extreme rapids, with wood crushing rocks on either side.

Now that was just plain stupid!

And petrifying!

And any other scary words you would have been able to think if you weren’t busy clinging to the side of your barrel having just dodged another outcrop of spiky rocks.

And…now there were orcs! Shooting at you. Yes, you!

Why? Because the gangly, deformed little pricks had figured out— you were the weakest link, goodbye!

And because you were lighter than the rest of the dwarves. And your barrel careened absolutely everywhere in the river like some demented pinball. You were being shot at from multiple sides. You were thankful when the elves caught up with you all.

After the orcs were dispatched in some pretty gruesome ways, thanks to the prince and his redhead friend. You were all tossed like salad downstream. Coming to a sandy gully, where Dwalin yanked your barrel to shore and pulled you out carefully, managing to not look at you once.

You couldn’t blame him, you were still embarrassed as hell.

Thorin had gathered you to his side, arm around your middle, fingers spread over your belly, protecting what could potentially be inside you.

Kilí was injured, though he was demanding he could still go on. You saw the resemblance in uncle and nephew right there. Both could act like brats when they chose to.

As you turned to look around you, in the distance you could see the Lonely Mountain. Despite its distance, it towered up in the sky, its very tip lost in the white fluffiness of the clouds. It looked deceptively peaceful.

You thought of the book, the epic journey still to come, and it hit you then. Those dreaded parts you’d refused to think on. The upcoming battle with a fire-breathing dragon. The upcoming troubles with Thorin and his gold-sickness.

Oh, crap. Your breathing started to labour, weight crushing down on your lungs, Thorin looking down at you with worried eyes. You stood there stricken as you thought about everything that was going to happen.

You were happy to pass out, your brain shutting down all thought like a plug being pulled out of its socket. Your body crumpling into your love’s arms.

***

Translation courtesy of the Dwarrow Scholar

Imrid amrâd 'arasî! – die a death of flames

Ish kakhfê ai’d dur rugnu! I pour my excrement upon the naked-jawed ones!

 


End file.
